


wrap me in celadon and gold

by ohjustpeachy



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Caretaking, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-11 09:06:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28468743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohjustpeachy/pseuds/ohjustpeachy
Summary: “It’s Friday,” Steve says. “It’s late and it’s freezing outside. Why don’t you just stay over?” His voice is tired and hopeful and impossible for Bucky to say no to. “We can get brunch in the morning.”It wouldn’t be the first time they’ve done this, not by a long shot, though it does break the rules Bucky has for himself. He hesitates for a minute, before thinking again about how comfortable he is just like this.“I can do that,” he says, and his voice sounds low and fond even to his own ears.Or, Bucky pines for his best friend all winter long and brings him plants to show him he loves him.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 4
Kudos: 149





	wrap me in celadon and gold

**_January_ **

“I should go,” Bucky says quietly. He hates to say it, especially when Steve looks so comfortable there on the couch, and Bucky knows he’ll insist on getting up and walking him to the door. But it’s going on midnight, and Sam gets cranky when Bucky gets in late and wakes him up. 

“Hmph?” Steve blinks at him, then again, long lashes giving way to tired blue eyes, and Bucky feels his resolve weaken all over again. 

“Hey, sleepyhead,” Bucky smiles, “I should get going,” he repeats. 

Steve makes a face at this. “Y’know, if you lived here, you’d be home already,” he points out. 

This is Steve’s favorite argument for why he and Bucky should be roommates rather than Bucky and Sam. Honestly, Bucky agrees with him. The only problem, of course, is that would mean living with Steve, _full time_. Coming home to Steve and eating dinner together more than they already do. Waking up and seeing Steve and his sleepy blue eyes and socked feet every single morning, and Bucky is pretty sure even one of those things would kill him. 

So, instead he comes over _most_ nights after work. Eats more meals with Steve than most friends eat together in a month. Bucky texts him throughout his day, every day. He knows what symptoms to look for when Steve’s getting sick and being difficult about it, knows what he can and can’t eat or be around without an inhaler or an epipen, and Bucky’s mother knows to send a card on his birthday. 

He’s making it work. Or, at least he’s trying to. 

Bucky looks at Steve and gives a fond roll of his eyes. “If I lived here where would you work?” He asks, like he almost always does. It earns him a huffy sigh. Steve uses his second bedroom as an office, where he writes and does phone interviews. He’s a journalist, writing freelance pieces about the arts when he can, filling in the gaps with copywriting gigs when he can’t. Working from home works for him, Bucky knows, lets him make his own hours and schedule, lets him take care of himself the way he can’t if he spends eight hours in an office.

“We’d make it work, Buck,” Steve replies with a shrug. He rubs at his eyes, clearing the sleep from them before shooting Bucky an indignant look when he grabs his jacket. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Bucky says, giving Steve’s shoulder a squeeze. “Don’t get up. You look so—” But Steve’s already shifting the blanket aside and getting to his feet. 

“I can walk you out,” Steve says, and his voice sounds a little rough, with sleep, sure, but more likely with the congestion Bucky knows he heard settling over him earlier. 

“I spend half my life here, Stevie, I can find my way to the door just fine,” Bucky tries, but Steve’s already up, his hand on Bucky’s arm, warm and familiar. 

“Yeah well, still,” Steve says. “And anyway, if you spend half your life here already…” 

Bucky just laughs, bites back the urge to shut him up with a kiss, and tells Steve he’ll see him tomorrow. 

*

The next day is long, and Bucky’s eyes are bleary by the time he looks up from a report at Stark Industries to realize it’s almost five thirty, and he could have left by now. Looking around, most people certainly had, hurrying home to dinners and significant others, or to de-stress at happy hour at the bar conveniently located across the street.

He looks down at his phone and isn’t surprised to see a flurry of updates from Steve from various points throughout his day. Bucky had been too swamped to reply to much, and he smiles a little looking through the messages. 

The latest, from just ten minutes ago, reads: _You don’t have to come over tonight. I’m sure you’re crazy busy before the Expo, plus I kind of feel like crap and I don’t want you catching this._

_It’s busy, sure, but I can bring dinner if you’re sick._

_You seriously don’t have to_

_Who said I had to? I want to_

With that, Bucky packs up his laptop, organizes his mess of scattered papers into something resembling order, and places a pick up order at the cafe he and Steve both like. It’s on the way and they always have soup on hand, perfect for whatever this latest bug is that Steve’s managed to pick up. 

Before he picks up the order, though, Bucky passes by the little plant store they always walk by. Steve always peers in, eyeing the plants on offer, but always leaves empty handed. Steve’s too indecisive for his own good when it comes to things like this, but looking in at the bright, lively-colored leaves, Bucky can’t resist going in.

He picks up a pothos, bright green leaves on a vine, and decides that it might cheer Steve up if he’s feeling like crap this week. It’ll look nice in his kitchen, too. Steve’s got a nice kitchen, for a city apartment. It can fit two people and has big windows that let in a ton of light. Perfect for a plant, perfect for Stevie. 

By the time he gets to Steve’s apartment, Bucky’s freezing, the January wind seeping into his bones, and he knows the soup will need to be reheated before they can eat it. 

“Buck?” Steve says when he opens the door. He shakes his head in frustration. “I thought I _t_ -told you…” He jerks his head to the side, breath catching. “ _Hh’Ightshh! Eeiishh’oo!”_

_“Bless you!_ ” Bucky says, moving past Steve’s still trembling frame and into the warmth of the apartment. Since Steve spends so much of his time at home, he’s really put a lot of time into decorating it, filling the space with art, throw pillows and blankets, and candles that make it just _feel_ homey as soon as you step inside. 

Bucky tells himself that _this_ is the reason he feels so at home here, and not the fact that Steve lives here, even though Steve has always felt like home to him: a constant, something he knows he can always come back to, like a favorite book or a well-worn sweater. 

He really needs to get it together, lest he swoon in the foyer of his best friend’s apartment. 

Steve sniffles, then scolds him, bringing Bucky back to reality. “I thought I said you shouldn’t come over,” he grumbles. He takes Bucky’s jacket nonetheless, though. 

“Did you? I had a lot of texts, I was all over the place today,” Bucky explains with a wave of his hand. “Besides, I got that potato soup you like.” 

“Mm? From Ralph’s?” Steve asks. His eyes light up at this despite the tired sheen they have to them. 

“That’s the one,” Bucky confirms, letting Steve lead them into the kitchen. “Might have to heat it up some, it’s freezing out there,” he says, shivering as the words leave his mouth. 

Steve frowns again at this. “You’ll be sick next,” he warns him. “I have a bunch of blankets, though,” he adds. 

“You have more blankets than one person could realistically ever need or use.” It’s true, Steve’s blanket collection is immense, with everyone he knows contributing to it for birthdays and holidays alike, not to mention Steve’s own HomeGoods addiction. 

“Preparing for the day I have a roommate who walks two miles in the cold to bring me soup and needs blankets after.”

“Who says I need to be your _roommate_ to do any of that? I’m here, aren’t I?” Bucky asks. 

“Yeah,” Steve says quietly. “You are. Come on, let’s put this in the microwave and go sit down, you’re making me cold just looking at you.”

“Think that’s the cold you have doing that, Stevie,” Bucky says, but follows Steve into the living room anyway. Bucky lets Steve fuss for a minute, like he’s not the one sick with a winter head cold, before pulling him down beside him on the couch. 

There’s a box of tissues on the coffee table, along with a bottle of DayQuil, and no less than three empty mugs, Bucky notes fondly. The perfect Steve Rogers sick day. 

“I have to get up and get the soup,” Steve reminds him. 

“I brought _you_ the soup, and you’re the one who should be sitting here under a million blankets,” Bucky points out. 

“Well you brought it, so the least I can do is heat it up for us,” Steve says, then smiles, melting away any further argument that Bucky might have had. 

Steve’s back and sitting opposite Bucky on the loveseat ( _I don’t want to germ you up, Buck!_ ), the bowl of soup in his lap, when Bucky remembers the pothos and leans forward, grabbing for the bag. 

“I almost forgot. I got you something,” he says, feeling absurdly shy now that he’s saying it out loud, but hands Steve the small ceramic pot anyway. “Thought this might make you feel better,” Bucky says. “It’ll brighten up the kitchen,” he adds when Steve’s quiet for a minute. 

“It’s perfect,” Steve says. “Thanks, Buck.” He beams at the plant, then at Bucky. “I’d hug you, but …” He gestures to himself as if to indicate germs, and Bucky just rolls his eyes. 

“You do realize I’ve been here almost every day this week, right? If I’m going to get it it’s already too late for me.” 

“Well…” Steve hesitates a minute longer but eventually lets Bucky pull him down beside him on the couch once more, leaning in for a half-hug that lingers just a beat too long. “Thanks,” Steve murmurs, his voice warm and just a little stuffy from his cold. “I love it.”

Bucky knew he would. He smiles and nods and tells him it’s nothing, it was right there, next to the cafe, and they continue to eat their soup while Steve brainstorms names for the plant. 

They land on Patroclus the Pothos before Bucky heads home for the evening, reminding Steve to go to bed at a reasonable hour, hydrate, and text him if he needs anything. 

*

**_February_ **

_Patrochlus is thriving_ :) IMG.589

_See? You’re a great plant dad_

_Or someone with too much time on his hands…_

_A natural green thumb_

_Whatever you say. How’s your day?_

_Busy, but good, Tony brought me in on a new project_

_As chief plant connoisseur?_

_Close. Team lead on this new design we’re working on_

_That’s awesome, Buck_

_It is. What about you? How’s your day?_

_It’s okay. I had a little asthma situation earlier and now I just feel foggy and tired so I’m procrastinating working_

_??? Are you okay?_

_Yeah, I’m fine now, just tired like I said. I have Netflix on in the background, but it’s been all I can focus on for the last hour, so... is it still just background?_

_Aren’t you like, weeks ahead on deadlines? Take the day._

_I might. Feel like Chinese tonight? I could use the company if you have the time._

_I always have time for you. I can grab it after work_

*

Six hours later, Bucky’s at Steve’s door with dinner and a plant, and wondering if it’s all too much. If he should take a break from this, if Steve can see through all of it, every plant and every meal for exactly what it is; a small way to tell Steve he loves him without ever opening his stupid mouth. 

Before he can make any decisions, though, Steve’s pulling the door open and inviting him inside and out of the cold. As soon as he gets a good look at him, though, he can tell Steve’s still not feeling like himself. He’s pale, and his eyes are shadowed and dark. He just looks… _small_ standing there in the doorway, his narrow hips leaning against the doorframe. 

“You brought me another plant?” Steve says, a rush of surprise bringing a smile to his face almost immediately. 

It’s a fern this time, not something Bucky could hide easily, and even though he’d regretted his decision to lug it all the way here as it banged against his leg, he’s glad he did. Steve looks thrilled at the prospect of having another plant in his apartment. 

“I did,” Bucky says, setting it down so Steve can get a good look at it. “Figured the other one’s doing so good, and you’re not feeling well…” He trails off, feeling his face heat even though Steve’s clearly thrilled, and not reading into it at all, and that’s what matters. 

“It can go in the living room this time,” Steve says, pointing to a spot by the TV that would get the perfect amount of light. 

“I’ll bring it in if you want to grab plates,” Bucky suggests, already making his way to the living room with the fern. It’s a good size, and Steve’s right, the spot is perfect for it, accenting the neutral wood tones of the space perfectly. 

“I love it,” Steve says when he returns to the living room with their dinner. He hands Bucky his lo mein and settles in next to him with his curry chicken and sighs as he sinks into the soft cushions of the couch, though Bucky can’t tell if it’s a content kind of sigh, or one of the tired, worn out ones.

“Feeling okay?” Bucky can’t help but ask. He knows Steve hates the idea of Bucky fussing and worrying about him, but he can’t help it, not when he looks so run down like this. He takes in Steve’s oversized sweatshirt, the sleeves hanging down to his wrists, and wants to hug him. The least he can do is ask how he’s feeling. 

“A little better,” Steve says, looking down at his plate. “The maintenance guys came and did something with the vent. Shook loose a bunch of dirt and dust I guess, and…” He shrugs, frustrated. 

“Ah.” 

Steve nods. “They didn’t know, obviously. I had my inhaler, and everything is fine now, but you know how it is, after…” 

“Yeah.” Bucky leans over and gives Steve’s foot a gentle squeeze. “Well, we can take your mind off it by brainstorming a name for this guy,” he says, pointing to the fern. 

They spend the rest of the night coming up with names in between bites, discussing the piece Steve’s working on and Bucky’s new project as the TV plays in the background. 

By the time the food’s gone and Steve’s settled on naming his new addition Frank the fern, Bucky’s warm all over, content to stay here just like this for the rest of the night. The rest of forever, really, but that’s a thought for another day. They put a movie on while they ate, a comedy they’ve seen a few times already, and now Steve’s half asleep against him as it winds down, a blanket draped across their legs. Bucky’s own eyes feel heavy, and he’s about to get up when Steve puts a hand on his ankle. 

“It’s Friday,” Steve says. “It’s late and it’s freezing outside. Why don’t you just stay over?” His voice is tired and hopeful and impossible for Bucky to say no to. “We can get brunch in the morning.” 

It wouldn’t be the first time they’ve done this, not by a long shot, though it does break the rules Bucky has for himself. He hesitates for a minute, before thinking again about how comfortable he is just like this.

“I can do that,” he says, and his voice sounds low and fond even to his own ears. 

“Good,” Steve mumbles sleepily. “I’ll get you pajamas in a minute,” he adds.

Bucky just smiles to himself, in no rush for either of them to move from this spot.

*

They wake up slowly the next morning, and Steve makes coffee while Bucky brushes his teeth and pulls on one of Steve’s sweaters. It’s navy and smells like him, like ink and citrus and _home_ and he tries to tell himself that this is fine. Friends spend the night, friends get brunch and borrow each other’s clothes, sometimes; it’s _fine_. 

But, Bucky knows, friends don’t romanticize a borrowed sweater, or let their fingers brush a minute too long when they hand over a coffee cup. Friends don’t have to resist the urge to hold their friends’ hand while they brace against the cold for the short walk to the diner they like. 

“Pancakes or french toast,” Steve debates aloud. 

“Waffles,” Bucky says. “With ice cream on top.”

“That’s not breakfast,” Steve replies. “That’s dessert.”

“Says who?”

Steve shrugs, then grins at him. “No one I guess. On second thought, please get ice cream for breakfast, Buck.“

In the end though, Bucky decides he’s too cold for ice cream, for breakfast or otherwise, and settles on a breakfast burrito while Steve gets chocolate chip pancakes. 

“Sweet tooth,” Bucky teases.

“Thought we just agreed dessert can be breakfast,” Steve argues. He looks better this morning, refreshed and happy and breathing easily. It makes Bucky’s heart go warm all over again as they sit there. This could be something they do all the time; wake up together, tangled in Steve’s many blankets, make their way to the diner for a late breakfast of whatever they felt like, lingering over coffee and taking the long way home. 

_Together_.

Bucky has to stop himself from sighing into his burrito. It’s not that he’s not thrilled with what they have now, because he is. Bucky can’t remember life before his friendship with Steve. He can’t even pinpoint the moment he realized his feelings for Steve had grown into something _more_ than friendship. It was like they’ve always been there, unfurling and sprouting, taking up room in his chest he never knew he had. 

Steve insists on paying for breakfast, and then they finally venture back out into the chilly winter afternoon, shoulders brushing as they walk. 

“Anywhere you need to go?” Steve asks Bucky as they walk. His face is flushed from the cold, and the bright sun turns his eyes such a bright shade of blue that Bucky mumbles something about a bookstore just to have a reason to stay out with him a little bit longer. 

On the way, though, they pass another little plant shop, and Steve lights up, taking Bucky by the hand and all but dragging him in to look around. 

“I don’t know… I don’t need another plant,” Steve debates, biting his lip. “But look at this thing!” He holds up a plant with leaves that are so dark they’re almost black. It’s the opposite of the bright leaves of the pothos, and like nothing Bucky’s ever seen.

“That’s a Raven ZZ,” the man at the counter informs them. “People love them for the black leaves. They’re perfect for the city because they don’t need much light to do well. It’s toxic, though, so not a good choice for pet owners.”

“Oh, I don’t have pets,” Steve says quickly. “Just a few other plants.”

“Well, you should be fine then. Let me know if you need any help,” he man says. 

“Let me see?” Bucky asks, holding out a hand and taking the plant from Steve. It _is_ a cool looking plant. “Promise you won’t eat it.”

“Right, that’s all I need, a toxic _plant_ problem.”

Bucky laughs, and without waiting for Steve to say anything else, he carries it to the register and tells the man he’ll take it. By the time Steve meets him up there, sputtering that he can buy it for himself, Bucky’s already putting his credit card away. 

He smiles and tells Steve they’ll have to think of a name on the walk home.

*

**_March_ **

The rest of winter melts away slowly. 

Bucky finishes more projects, makes Stark respect him more, spends more long hours at the office trying to prove himself. It’s fun and stressful and fulfilling, but it means fewer evenings spent on Steve’s couch, less time to focus on his nearly all consuming crush on his best friend. 

Maybe he should be glad for the distraction, but really, Bucky just misses him. They still talk on and off all day, but it’s not the same, and he knows Steve feels it too, though he’ll never push. 

One afternoon in early March, it’s finally starting to feel like spring might be waiting for them; a light at the end of the tunnel. It’s the kind of day that’s cold enough that it requires a jacket, but bright and breezy enough that it just smells fresh, brimming with the possibility of everything to come. 

Bucky takes his phone out and texts Steve, offering to pick up dinner, celebrate the changing season.

_Spring is in the air, Stevie!_

_...That’s just pollen, Buck_

_Don’t be a jerk, you know what I mean! Can I come over tonight? I can bring pizza and beer_

_You know you don’t always have to bring something, right? I can feed you_

_You’d turn down free pizza? Who is this and where is Steve?_

_:( I have to take a raincheck. I don’t know if it’s allergies or a cold or what but my sinuses don’t love me today and I’ve been taking medicine for three days now_

Bucky frowns at his phone, though really he knows this about Steve. Every time the seasons change, moving from winter to spring, Steve suffers like this, wondering what it is that’s bothering him, apologizing every time he had to sneeze or ask to move plans or stop for a hit of his inhaler. 

_We can still have pizza, Stevie. You can’t take all those meds on an empty stomach anyway!_

_I’m not!_

_Good. But I’ll still bring pizza. I haven’t seen you in so long I’m starting to forget what that stubborn mug of yours looks like._

_IMG.975_

Bucky’s heart stutters in his chest as he looks at the picture Steve sent. He’s making a silly, pouty face, his blond hair falling over onto his forehead, his nose and eyes pink-tinged and tired, but it’s still _Steve_ , and he manages to look unfairly handsome even like this. 

_I miss you_

He types the words before he lets himself think too much about it, before he can stop himself and send back a series of emojis instead. 

_I miss you too, Buck._ _  
_ _Fine, you can come over, but let me apologize in advance for sniffling at you all night._

_We’ve been friends for how long now? You never have to apologize, you know that_

_:)_

*

The rest of Bucky’s day seems to fly by after that, and before he knows it, he’s packing up and heading out the door. He runs into Tony in the elevator, and after doing their usual small talk slash project check in, Tony asks about Bucky’s plans for the weekend, so he tells him. Dinner with Steve tonight and not much of anything save grocery shopping for the rest of it. 

“You should have him come by for lunch one day,” Tony says, smiling slightly. “It’d be nice to meet your boyfriend.” 

He says it so casually that it takes Bucky a minute to register Tony’s words. _It’d be nice to meet your_ boyfriend.

_Boyfriend_. 

Does Bucky talk about Steve enough that even the CEO of Stark Industries knows about him and thinks they’re dating?

Bucky clears his throat. “Oh, he’s… we’re not… He’s my best friend,” he manages in fits and starts. 

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Tony says, though he doesn’t much look it. “I thought… well, never mind. You know Rhodey was my best friend for twenty years before we got our heads out of our asses?” Tony gives Bucky a look just as the elevator doors _ding_ open, releasing them. 

“Right,” Bucky says, dumbfounded.

“Either way, love to meet him,” Tony says, then winks and walks away. 

_Boyfriend_. God, he really is transparent. 

Still flustered by his conversation with Tony in the elevator, Bucky finds himself wandering through downtown, thinking of pizza and Steve and wondering what excuse he could give to stay over again, just this once, when he passes the flower shop. 

It’s become something of a habit by now, picking out plants for Steve when he’s feeling bad, and there’s really no sense in stopping now. He pokes his head in and looks around, taking in the flower arrangements that definitely wouldn’t help Steve’s sinuses, and the tall, proud orchids lined up along one wall. He keeps looking until he finds one that’s a bright, inviting green, its leaves rounded. The stick inside the pot reads _pepperomia_ , and Bucky decides it’s the perfect one, small enough that it’ll fit anywhere, bright enough that it’s cheerful. 

By the time he gets to Steve’s, the pizza he ordered on his way has already arrived, and Steve’s waiting for him, plates and napkins set on the coffee table for their night in. 

“Another one?” Steve says when he spots the plant, but the way his face lights up tells Bucky that he’s hardly complaining. 

“Another one,” Bucky agrees, smiling at Steve’s clear delight. His nose is flushed a light shade of pink, and his eyes look tired and watery, too, but otherwise he seems to be doing well enough. Probably allergies, then, Bucky decides. 

“What?” Steve asks, looking at him. 

“Nothing,” Bucky says, feeling his cheeks grow warm at the question. “You look like your allergies are bothering you, that’s all.” 

Steve shakes his head, rubbing gently at his neck. “I told you I’m a mess today,” he defends, sniffling a little as if to demonstrate this. 

“You’re not,” Bucky assures him. “Come on, let’s find a spot for that and eat before it gets cold.”

“You know,” Bucky says through a mouthful of pizza. They’ve decided the plant would reside on his desk in his office, and they’re seated with their pizza, inhaling it unselfconsciously after a long day. “I had a weird conversation with Tony today.” He’s not sure why he says it, what on earth he thinks will come of telling Steve his boss’s incorrect assumption, but the words are out of his mouth and he can’t take them back now. 

“Yeah?” Steve asks, eyebrows raised. “Weirder than usual?” 

It’s true, Bucky had shared countless strange encounters with the eccentric billionaire over his year of working there. 

“Well, normal by his standards, I guess,” Bucky agrees. “He suggested you come up and meet me for lunch one day so he can meet you.”

Steve frowns over at him. “And this would be weird, why?” 

Bucky tries to keep his face impassive. “Well, he thought it would be nice to meet you… my _boyfriend_ ,” he says with a hard swallow. 

He watches Steve’s cheeks turn pink, and he has to clap him on the back a few times when he nearly chokes on his water.

“Oh, um. That’s—” Steve can’t seem to finish his sentence, but his eyes find Bucky’s then, blue and soft and so familiar Bucky can’t look away. They’re pressed so close together on the couch that he’s pretty sure he can feel Steve’s momentary hesitation, but it’s just that — momentary. 

Later, they’ll argue which of them moved first, the story changing with every telling, but for now, Bucky turns, and Steve’s eyes meet his in a silent, long-awaited agreement, and then his lips brush Steve’s. It’s careful at first, tentative and exploratory, before growing into something deeper, something longed for and unspoken and _wonderful_ , and if it wasn’t for his need for oxygen, Bucky could have kept it up for the duration of the night he was so mind-meltingly happy.

Steve leans into him then, pressing their foreheads together and giving Bucky the chance to take in Steve’s big blue eyes, bright and dilated and so  _ happy _ , he can’t believe it took so long for them to get here. 

“So,” Bucky says, though he has no real idea what he plans to say, and he’s smiling too widely to get very far. 

“So,” Steve repeats, kissing him again, light and easy. “I’m really glad you came over.” 


End file.
